


Wings

by Zip001



Series: Wing fic [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, wing fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zip001/pseuds/Zip001
Summary: Only one child in a family was graced with wings. And not every family had a winged child. In fact, she knew not of any in her generation. There were talk that there would soon be none, like the dragons before them.





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [junojelli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/junojelli/gifts).



Sansa knew that it was not becoming her pride that she would be graced with wings.

Only one child in a family was graced with wings. And not every family had a winged child. In fact, she knew not of any in her generation. There were talk that there would soon be none, like the dragons before them.

Father did not have wings. His sister’s blueish-silver wings were so beautiful that they caught not one, but two men’s attention. Even before Sansa felt the two tender nubs on her back, Old Nan whispered to her that having wings is a grave responsibility, one that her aunt did not fully comprehend and appreciate. Lyanna loved the flight (and the hunt as the edges of her wings were razor sharp), but never knew how to live on the earth.

Mother had wings, delicate large fin-like wings that were colors of the sunset. Even without Old Nan’s words, Sansa knew her mother, unlike her aunt, always understood the power and the responsibility of wings. Every morn when she was not with child, her lady mother flew, locating prey for the hunts and the brigands. The Northerners saw her flights, the streak of pink, orange, red, and felt safe with her above them.

Only at night did Sansa allow herself to touch the nubs, which were silky soft and downy. She recalled her mother’s whisper about the exhilaration of flight and the catch in her voice when Mother said that she had to return, come back to them and land. They needed her - her husband and her children. Mother loved them.

Old Nan said that others flew away - where they went, no one knew. Sansa hoped that was what happened to her aunt, but knew that was not true. Father buried her in the crypts. He would never lie.

At night, she would dream about her wings. They would be pink, her favorite color even though Arya scoffed, saying pink clashed with her coloring, making her look like a pig!

Her sister was just jealous. And Sansa thought of how petty her aunt Lysa acted towards Mother. If Arya had wings, Sansa would be resentful too as her younger sister had seemingly everything. Arya got away with so many shenanigans. Father would just shake his head and ruffle her hair fondly. Sansa shook her head violently - she vowed that she would not let anything come between her and Arya. It was what Father oft told them - ‘ _When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives._ ’

The nubs ached and burned. She grabbed the poultice that Old Nan gave her. It smelled foul but with Old Nan’s approval mixed it with sweet smelling plants to mask the pungent odor. Removing her nightrail, she liberally applied the poultice on her back. The cool poultice felt good against her hot skin. She closed her eyes and imagined that it was his hands on her.

It was foolish she knew but she imagined that she was being held, that his wings fully engulfed her. Old Nan told them of rare winged lovers, of once witnessing their flight of passion. While the others laughed or squirmed at the quite graphic tale, Sansa thought the tale was beautiful. Sansa oft looked to the sky, searching for her love.

She gasped as she touched herself, one hand holding her breast, teasing her nipple and the other rubbing her sensitive spot. She could feel her breasts being kissed and suckled. Moaning, she felt so full. She bucked, as she heard him panting how sweet she was, his little bird. There were fluttering of wings.

She sang.


	2. Ned

Mayhaps she was more like his sister than his dutiful wife, who was tethered to the earth by her family, her sense of duty and honor, by him. His love chained Cat to him. He saw his little girl scanning the Northern sky - he knew that each dot she wished and willed to be her winged lover finally coming for her. They all heard her song late at night to her embarrassment and chagrin. She already knew from the look her septa gave her and the way he and her older brothers would look away when they saw her the next morn. Yet she could not stop herself when the moon was full - he could hear her muffled howls.

And when her black-blue wings were fully formed, she flew over the Northern lands and helped her mother protect and feed the North but before she returned to Winterfell with Mother, she would venture southward, searching for him. 

There were men, boys, from all of Westeros, all wanting to tame her, to encage her. Ned listened patiently to their petitions, but refused each one, even a request from the King, his brother in arms, on his heir’s behalf. They did not have wings. He wanted his girl to be happy.

Whilst he himself, a wingless man, wed a winged lady, Ned knew of his wife’s sacrifice. Cat wanted to fly with him when they couple but he was so frightened of falling, of her letting him go in her throes of passion even though he knew of her inhuman strength. Although Cat did not say anything when he refused the one time she asked, he could tell from her reproachful eyes that she knew that it was a matter of trust. She was right.

And yet, Arya, Bran and Rickon implicitly trusted their sister Sansa, who flew them slightly higher than the tree tops and only over the deepest snow banks. It was a sight as well as a sound as her fearless siblings could not help screaming their exhilaration.

He knew that the younger boys and even Arya would soon be too scared as he saw the looks of awe of his older boys. It was when you have so much to lose that you truly understand fear.

There was a lovesick stableboy who was desperate for her hand. He made himself a set of wings from feathers he found on the frozen ground, including hers. Since he was a slight young man, he was able to stay aloft for a short while but he was not able to chase or capture her, falling to the ground and breaking both of his legs.

It was then that the Lord and Lady of Winterfell announced that there would be a winged tournament. The word spread throughout Westeros that it was neither strength alone nor even wisdom would enough to secure the victory and the great prize. It was true as her parents promised her that the final decision would be hers. 

He would keep this promise.


	3. Stannis

A blessing they call it, even his older brother agreed, but having wings never did him any good. 

Stannis had no wings when he helplessly watched his parent drown. He could still hear the thunder, the screams and the sound of the ship crashing against the rocks and being torn apart. He oft wondered even if he had wings whether he would be able to carry his parents both to safety, whether he would have decide whom to save.

While he had his full set of wings just before the siege, he could not abandon Dragonstone, could not leave their loyal men behind (even though he remembered how the bannermen betrayed their lady and princess Argella, his kin). Renley knew of his decision not to save him and that led to his festering resentment. It was so desperate at the end that he even thought of sawing off his wings to feed them, to make a soup or something. He ordered Maester Cressen to saw them off, and it was the first and last time his maester refused him. Luckily Davos arrived before Stannis was going to hack them off himself.

His wings could do nothing for his young daughter who was afflicted by greyscale. All they did was to fan the feverishly hot girl who moaned piteously, begging for the pain to end. He could not do it, give her the gift of mercy. It was not a miracle that she survived - it was pure luck. There was something hard and sour in him, something that made him think that mayhaps it was bad luck as he could see how others, with the exception of Davos, shunned or disparaged his sweet girl. Not even his glares and scowls would stop them.

He thought bitterly of his late wife, that wretched woman. He wanted to rage at her, for her foolishness with the Red Witch, of her treachery that his brother, his King, rightfully had to punish and permanently quash. She was so desperate for a male heir, trying anything and everything, including listening to the dark whispers of the Red Witch, telling her that her wishes would come true only with the blood of the King. She was not meant to be a Kingslayer. He was surprised that his brother knew he had no part in the assassination attempt. Robert just whispered that for all of his shortcomings, he knew that Stannis would never lie to him.

He was not there for Selyse nor for Shireen. Stannis was tasked by his King to fly over Westeros to maintain order, but he knew he flew to get away from them, his sad wife and his sadder child. Was it shame that kept him away? Or worse, a desire to fly away to her? Sometimes he could smell her, a delicate scent of citrus and rose, and other times, he could hear her song.

When the full moon was high in the night sky, he could not stop himself from taking a hold of himself. Closing his eyes, he felt her gentle soft fingers with the tiniest bumps on him (he asked about those tiny bumps with Maester Cressen who skeptically replied that they were oft found in lady’s fingers, from their sewing). She sang to him as they flew, their wings flapping in unison. And when he felt he would burst, she would sink down into him, keening and moaning. His hips would snap as hers met his, faster and harder. “Little bird,” he moaned at the end as her wings would envelope him. 

_“My love.”_

Now his King has ordered him to participate in this blasted winged tournament where fools would gawk at him and others like him. 

It was pure madness! Stannis understood the importance of the Northern alliance by marriage but he knew, his King knew, that Lord Stark would always stand by the King. Of all of the wardens, Lord Stark’s loyalty was not to questioned. 

The King already petitioned for the young Stark girl to wed his own heir and was kindly but firmly rebuffed. Why would Lord Stark even consider him, an old and bitter man, for his young beautiful daughter? He himself would not want a man like himself, a man who only knew of warfare and bitterness, for his own sweet girl. He remember the look of resignment of Selyse at their wedding (she wanted to be wed to him as much as he to her, which was not at all) and later of her closed eyes, her face turned away, and her hands clutching the bedsheets as if his very presence disgusted her. Stannis could not imagine this Northern lady would ever look at him differently.

And yet he found himself in an inn near Winterfell, nursing a pitcher of bitter ale and even worse company. He was growing more and more irritated as his wings felt itchy under the heavy wet wool cloak that he used to hide his pure white wings. He was irritated by the loud guffaws of the Northern men, cheeks ruddy with cheer and ale. 

The titters of the young girls in a nearby table also riled him. He wanted to throttle them as they were inanely chattering away about the blasted tournament, making guesses about the identity of the winged knights, and gasping their excitement over the sheer spectacle (the dresses, the entertainment and the feasts). It was only by his sheer will did his wings not fully spread as they wont to do when he was upset or excited (his wings were always closed when he was with Selyse). His mug was metal, otherwise it would have exploded from his tight grip. He could not help but lowly growl at their last words about seeing the men’s sweaty bare chests at the log rolling contest which apparently be in the hot springs. Beth said that they would be displaying their baked goods at them - he did not grasp her meaning. Hot buns???? 

But then he heard a gasp from a cloaked girl that sounded familiar. He waited in anticipation to hear her voice. 

“My love would never do such a thing!”

It was his Little Bird!


End file.
